An Orphan For Christmas
by wingedmessanger
Summary: Everyone deserves a Christmas to create new memories. And this Christmas one of the Avengers and a Brooklyn street rat will create not only new memories, but new life.
1. A New View

**A/N: Hey! So here is a Christmas fic inspired by the prompt in the Avengers forum by darkoraclegirl So Thank you darkoraclegirl so much for the idea! This story takes place after the Captain America movie. So I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, Marvel, or the characters used in this story. I am only using them for the entertainment of the world and myself.**

Steve had just turned the corner on Fifth Street on his way back to the Avengers Tower. His run had been refreshing, and to his surprise there were not very many people out on the normally bustling streets of New York this morning. Granted, it was 5 A.M. and two days before Christmas Eve, but he still expected to encounter more than a handful of pedestrians and taxi cabs driving on the slush filled roads. The city itself was actually a spectacular sight in the light of all the colorful shops' windows that decorated the streets and sidewalks.

Toys glistened in the artificial light of the many toy stores windows on Fifth Avenue. The sweet smells of traditional Christmassy desserts wafted in the air from the local bakeries, along with the mouthwatering fragrances of various other savory food drifting from the open widows of the apartment buildings above his head. The people who were still doing last minute shopping, were coming out of the shops carrying brightly colored, wrapped bags out into the streets before proceeding to wave down any available taxi cabs.

However, these familiar sights were not the only ones bringing nostalgia back to the Man out of Time. All in the air was not the choking aroma of smog and muck that had become the New York City that Steve had to get accustomed to, but the clean crisp smell of cold and snow.

The snow did at one point bring back almost happy memories from his depressing childhood and upbringing.

He remembered having snowball fights and building snowmen with Bucky, watching the small specks of white drift from the sky as he and his family decorated the tree and cooked Christmas dinner, of him running—or jogging because of his asthma—down the sidewalk and sliding on the ice. Of sitting on his father's lap and listening to the radio broadcast the football game. Or his favorite, finding the biggest hill in the neighborhood and laying on his belly as Bucky gave him a push down the latest Everest slope.

Yes, he did have good memories, but if you live through war and tribulation…those good memories can easily be washed away.

Now his memories of the snow and cold were replaced by the nights he was so deathly ill, that he could no longer keep warmth in his fragile body. The freezing temperatures of Germany followed by the whiz of bullets flying over his head, the sound of his men wounded and dying in scarlet snow. Of watching helplessly as Bucky, his life-long friend, fell to his death on the train and into the unforgiving white. Then the latest memory, the one that still haunts his dreams, of him facing the frozen glacier blocks of the Arctic and promising Peggy to a dance before everything went dark.

Steve slowed to a halt, teeth chattering in the now seemingly unbearable cold. He slowly brought his arms up to his freezing chest and asked himself why he even came out here anyway? The Soldier remained where he was in the middle of the sidewalk as he pondered his predicament.

He obviously knew that it was cold when he stepped out of the Tower earlier that morning. Steve attempted to smile as he remembered Tony's indignant squeak at the sudden chill, when Steve walked out of the foyer of the Avengers Tower and into the cold. But that still didn't explain why he went out to run this morning. Yet, when he thought back on the beginning of his trek, it hadn't been snowing then. Had it?

Finally realizing that standing there wasn't helping him get to warmth any quicker, Steve started walking forward again heading to the place he now called home. Now he was suddenly grateful for wearing two pairs of thick sweats, three pairs of socks, running shoes, a hoodies, two undershirts, and one black underarmour turtleneck before stepping out earlier. Now he recalled that it actually hadn't started to snow until an hour into his morning exercise routine. And now that he thought about it, there was a treadmill in the gym on the floor above Tony's auto shop and one in his "apartment" in the Tower itself. So why in the world did he think it was a good idea to run in New York, three days before Christmas, in subzero temperatures, and when he hates the cold and ice?

Steve continued to run every scenario in his head from the time he woke up until now. He ran through a checklist of ideas that a typical therapist might have used on their patient.

 _Did someone persuade you to go out in this weather?_

No, well, maybe? Natasha and Pepper have been talking about trying to adapt me to the winter again. But that was only with them agreeing to accompany me to do whatever it is they had in mind.

 _Did you need to get something outside of the Tower?_

Why would I need anything outside of the Tower? Tony practically has the entire place stock piled with everything! And even if I did need something, I would have gotten it by now and be in the Tower trying to get away from this bone chilling cold.

 _Did a team member ask you to get something outside of the Tower?_

Practically that same as the first question, except for Tony. He would ask Happy or Pepper to get the things for him, or better yet, ask Jarvis to put it on the "same-day-delivery" thingy. They all know I would do something like that for them, but they also know how I feel about the cold.

 _Has anything been bothering you lately?_

No, just the same old crap that I am always dealing with.

 _What did you have planned this week?_

Uhm, I would like to get some sketches of the team done and catch up on my reading and paperwork because no one else will do it otherwise. But otherwise, I have a free schedule until Fury needs the team.

 _How were you feeling this morning? Did something make you feel as if you needed to go outside?_

Steve got stuck on the last question and let his mind ponder over it. _What did he feel this morning?_ That's when it hit him. This morning he did feel a sense of urgency in his movements as he proceeded to get ready. Like as if someone was calling out to him, someone who needed help. He knew that it was an odd feeling to have at this hour in the morning, and not to mention only a day and a half after Fury let them go for Christmas, but Steve had still felt called to go outside for a run.

He just didn't know why.

The kid struggled against the tightening grip of the neighborhood thug.

He could feel the energy slowly slipping out of him the more he struggled, and the many wounds he had accumulated from the continuous abuse that these men put him through. He hadn't done anything to them, so the boy had no clue why they were even trying to bother him! All he wanted was to find any decent food in the trash cans behind the apartment complex. He didn't mean to step in the gang leaders way or on their turf!

The boy squeaked as the man brought his fist tighter over the boy's scrawny neck. Black dots began to hover in the corners of his vision, his mouth was making a show of opening and closing like a fish out of water, and now his body was beginning to lose the fight against consciousness all together the more he was suspended in the air. The man brought himself in closer to the kid's face. The boy tried to recoil from the dank scent of alcohol on his breath, but was not able to get very far.

The man snarled before revealing an evil grin that would have been more menacing if he weren't missing so many teeth. "Look at me boy."

When he didn't comply, the man pulled him away from the wall and thrusted him back against it, causing the boy to cry out as his head met brick. The gang laughed as the child's muffled groan as he clinched his eye shut against the pain exploding in the back of his head and body. He was trying everything in his power not to cry. The last thing he needed was for the group to find out that he had powers, then kill him in the middle of the dark alleyway. So he held firm.

"I said, look. At. Me!"

As much as he wanted not to, the kid opened his clear sterling eyes toward the thug. Despite the blurriness from his lack of oxygen and throbbing head, he could still make out the fine features of the man's face.

He was about thirty years old, tall, and dirty faced, but whether that was from the unshaved beard or dried mud the kid couldn't tell. The guy had tattoos up his arms and neck that were clearly visible under the thin dirty wife beater he wore. If it weren't for the cold, the kid would assume that the man had been tan but between his quivering arms and the 10 degree wind chill, he looked paler than a piece of paper. The holey smile was back causing wrinkles to form around his dark eyes as he watched the boy traced over his features.

"Checking me out, son? Or are you just being a sissy and acting all observant 'cause you too dumb to tell the difference between a man and a dog?"

The group laughed again, and the kid snorted…or, at least tried to. "Nope,' he gasped,' it's just that I've seen better looking dogs." He grinned at the man's expression of shock and horror before a fist the size of Manhattan came toward his face. Pain exploded from his left cheek, escalating the agony in his head and jarring the bruises from everywhere else.

The man then released his hold around his neck, only to continue the beating with his feet. Other members of the group joined in on the fun, laughing and taunting the child through the whole process. The boy took the beating by wrapping into a tight ball and placing his arms over his small head. He couldn't tell how many were hurting him because the fists and boots were everywhere. But the beating he could take, that he was used to living on the streets for the past eight years. It was just that words and names that they called him that really made the physical pain become unbearable, because words cut deeper than the sharpest knife.

The gang verbally insulted the boy between every kick, punch, pull, and slap, leaving no room for reprieve.

"You. Little. Idiot." "Jerk." "Dog." "Rat." "Piece of crap!" "Nothing!" "Butt-hole" (These are the nicer form of the words. I personally do not curse, but you are free to put the words there if you choose.)

He had grown up being called these words, but it was his choice on whether or not he decided to accept them. With every crack of bone, or bruise from fist came something new and old. The kid may have been used to the names, but he never accepted them as his own. So there he lay in the trash pile of an alley, being beaten to until he either lost consciousness or death finally took him. The assault seemed endless and the boy waited for unconsciousness to take him, but when the barrage stopped the world didn't fade into darkness.

His mind drifted on the thin border of the conscious and unconscious realm as some of the conversation drifted into his ears. _"Who's coming?"_

 _"_ _From where?"_

 _"_ _Who dare…"_

 _"_ _Gotta go…"_

The kid opened his one good eye to a slit as he watched the gang disperse from the alley in every direction. Just as they had suddenly appeared, they had vanished. The boy tried to sit up, but could not get his arms under his figure long enough without crying out in misery. He tried again, but only felt his broken ribs shift inside his multicolored chest. He coughed violently into his available hand and recoiled in horror at the sight of blood in his open palm. With nothing else to do and no way of moving out of the puddle of blood beneath him, he laid back down on the concrete.

With nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. And no one to care.

The boy curled even more into himself, if that possible with broken ribs and other bones, and cried. The city around slowed too little activity as soft, white flakes fell with his tears.

Rogers looked up from his feet and in the direction of the Tower. Judging from his perspective of the giant building with the Avengers logo on it and his current position, Steve calculated that he was about a mile and half away. He sighed and watched the misty vapor escape from his mouth as he lowered his arms and started to jog down the sparsely populated streets. Still thinking on the feeling he got that morning.

The few people he saw became fewer and father in between as he started to cover some more ground. The most he saw at one time was a group of at least five grown men walking in the opposite direction of him. The lead guy bumped into his shoulder then proceeded to glare at Steve, but kept walking. Steve detected the obvious scent of alcohol on the man's breathe, and judging by his clothing and staggered walk, Steve would not be surprised if he was a thug. He continued his jog while occasionally sending glances behind him at the retreating gang.

Steve kept up his pace as he crossed the second to last intersection before the Tower.

That's when he heard what sounded like whimpering. He slowed his jog to a fast walk and enable his serum enhanced ears to pick up on the sound. The weather was horrible, Steve will admit without denying that, but most people had a coat on. _So, who was whimpering?_

He had stopped only a few feet from the pedestrian crossing to catch the sound again. Silence permeated the air besides that of the people and cars further down the road, but other than that, Steve was pretty sure he could make out a pin drop. And that's when he heard it again. A faint, soft whimper followed by a sniffle.

Steve traced the sound to an alley way not far from the street light and headed in that direction. That was when that odd feeling from this morning came back to the Soldier. And the closer to the alley he got the stronger the desperation, almost a yearning, to find the source of the pitiful sound became.

His shoes crunched on the thickening snow around his feet as he approached the entrance to the alley. The soft cries never growing louder or softer the closer he got. Steve stopped just on the edge of the brick building, and listened for any other noise beside that of who he perceived to be a child. Then the Super Soldier completely turned from the wall and into the dark alley.

The area in itself was something very similar to the horror movies that Tony and Clint watched every now and then, and Steve half expected for something to pop out at him. Trash lay open and piled high along both walls as Steve steadily made his way forward. Rats and other small creatures scurried about his feet with every step he took, trying to get through the various piles of waste like stores in a shopping mall. Broken furniture, vehicles, and other sorts of odds and ends lay all over the hard concrete in whatever position seemed right. There was also no light in the passage, so Steve had to strain his eyes to ensure that he didn't face plant in a pile of refuse or dog feces.

Steve stepped in a piece of glass making a loud _crunch_ that echoed over the trash and walls. The soft crying and whimpering stopped suddenly, as if listening for an enemy to arrive. Steve froze where he was with one foot in the air mid-step and waited for the sound to come back. When it didn't, he cleared his throat and spoke out in a voice one would use to call out to children.

"Hello?"


	2. A New Life

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, Marvel, or the characters used in this story. I am only using them for the entertainment of the world and myself.**

He couldn't do anything more than sober silently to himself.

He tried to keep his cries as quiet as possible for several reasons. 1) He wasn't trying to start a blizzard. 2) His ribs were already burning like the fire pits of hell, so the last thing he wanted to do was irritate them more! 3) He didn't want the thugs to come back. 4) The kid really didn't want other people to come and help him because every other time he either asked for help, or others tried to help him, it usually ended up leaving him in even worse shape than before. And 5) he just wanted to die. There was no one in New York who wanted an orphan, so why get his hopes up now.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't hear the figure enter the alley, until the beer bottle crunched underneath its foot. He snapped his eyes open and instantly quieted, not knowing who the threat was. The boy tuned his ears for his surroundings, but stayed absolutely still in the pile of trash he was lying in. even going as far as holding his breath.

He knew that whoever it was already knew he was there, but the figure obviously didn't know where he was in the trash heap. So that was a plus, but that still left the kid wondering if the figure was there to help him…or hurt him. Silence quickly followed as the boy listened to the being's breathing, he could clearly see the mist coming from its mouth from where he lay. So at least he knew where the other stood in distance.

In that split second pause, he went over ever scenario he could think of to get out of the situation. He could create a distraction by sending a barrage of snow or wind at it, but the risk of revealing his powers were too great. Running away was an option, but that would be very painful and if it wanted to hurt him…then there was no escape. Fighting back was always an option in an adrenaline induced state, but highly unlikely unless the figure drew near—which people seldom did. So his only other option was to sit there and wait for the intruder to make a move.

He hated being in a circumstance like this, but there was no other alternative.

The being cleared its throat, and the boy curled even more into himself. His eyes never leaving the obvious vapor a few feet in front of him. Then something unexpected happened. The voice sounded husky when it, no he, clear his throat, but the tone that addressed the boy was soft and almost soothing.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

The boy was shocked to say the least, most of the time those who did have the notion to address him were coarse and rough. But this voice seemed…different?

"I am not hear to hurt you. I just want to know if you are alright. Is there anything that I can help you with?" The man's voice shook a little, like if his teeth were chattering. The kid knew that it was cold, but the man no doubt had a coat on at least.

The kid didn't know what to do. He had been perfectly fine with dying a minute ago, but after hearing the desperate, caring tone in the other man's voice, the boy almost inclined to answer. The man never pushed for him to reveal his location, he waited patiently for him to make the decision on his own. Now that he thought about it, the boy didn't even recall him taking another step forward. So was he balancing on one foot waiting for him to answer?

The boy puffed his chest in silent laughter, but let out a muffled gasp at the blinding white of his ribs being jarred. He sucked in a breath and blew it out as slowly as he could, stray tears falling from his eyes as more snow fell from the heavens. Once the pain subsided, he opened his eyes again, the left one swollen but was still usable. Btu he still sought out the mist from the man.

He heard the figure grumble under his breath into what he thought was an empty junkyard. "Maybe you're just hearing things, Steve." There was a scratching noise and the shifting of glass as the man made way to leave the alley, and him behind. The kid was on the verge of hyperventilating. The man who was concerned for his well-being, even if he didn't know him, wanted to help? His one chance of possibly being taken to a better place was leaving and he still hadn't uttered a peep!

The boy hesitated afraid of trying out his voice, but desperate for the possibility of at least a warm blanket and meal. So weighing out his options and deciding that there was nothing he really had to lose but the life he really didn't care about; he opened his mouth and uttered the two words that would change his life.

"I'm here."

Steve pivoted on his heels when the soft voice entered his ears. He almost couldn't believe that he had actually heard something to respond. He shook his head to clear as if to clear the cob webs out of his excited brain and answered, "Where are you?"

He waited almost desperately to hear the voice again until it came.

And when it did, Steve almost wished he hadn't.

"I'm…here. In th- the tra-trash pile."

The voice sounded weak and chattered from Steve position. So that could mean that either the owner of said voice was cold, wounded, and young, or on the verge of death. Steve hoped it wasn't the latter as he made his way through the trash, the smell and animals not bothering him at all as he got closer to the source of the plea for help.

Steve scrunched his nose at the strong scent of blood among the trash. _This can't be good._ When he finally uncovered what he assumed was the person, Steve's heart stopped.

It was a child, no older than ten at best. He was only wearing a pair of tattered jeans and a holey sweatshirt that was three sized too big for the tiny frame occupying it. The little boy was covered from head to toe with various blue and purple bruises that probably would have been darker in warmer temperatures. Fingers on both hands were twisted in painful angles and deep bruising. His left arm and leg were in awkward positions beside his body in the enlarging pool of blood around him.

To Steve, the kid looked as if he went a few rounds in the garbage disposal before being spat back out. It was pitiful and vile what was done to this boy, this _child_. His figure cowered and shivered in the winter chill and tears stuck to his golden brown cheeks beneath locks of curly brown hair. But that wasn't what caught Steve's attention the most as he slowly kneeled down to touch the child. The boy opened his eyes beneath the long bangs revealing the brightest silver that Steve had ever seen.

The boy's breath grew ragged, causing more blood to trickle from his lips before he suddenly started to violently cough. Sending waves of spasms through his thin form. Steve quickly went into action. He placed one hand on the child's back and the other on his head until the coughing fit was over, then waited patiently for him to settle down. Steve whispered nonsense to the child until he could regain his composure enough to talk. He watched helplessly as the boy tried to curl into himself and let out a jagged breath before facing Steve with his sterling gaze.

"Hey, kiddo."

Steve didn't know what else to say as the boy underneath his open palm shuttered. He slowly moved his hand away from his oily head and grimaced at the sticky blood that decorated his skin. Using the back of his hand, Steve pushed back the unruly hair to seek the face underneath. The boy's cheeks and eyes were sunken in, proving that he was more than just skinny. He had the same pattern of bruising on his cheeks as he did all over his body. And now Steve could see more clearly the swelling black eye that was forming. But another surprise that Steve just noticed, was that the tears on his face was _freezing_ to his skin. Now Steve could tell that the child was getting colder in the weather, and not the other way around.

He could feel the terse muscles on the kid's back upon his discovery of the unusual situation. The Soldier looked up and meet the silver eyes with his blue ones, willing to child to know that he was not going to hurt him.

"I am not going to hurt you, that I promise,' he looked him over, and bit his lip, unsure of how else to do what needed to be done without putting him in any more pain. "I'm going to prop you up to wrap you in something warmer, okay? May I touch you?"

The boy's eyes widened and looked at Steve in pure fear. The Super Soldier thought that he probably said something wrong, but when the kid nodded his consent, Steve went into immediate action.

Removing his hand from the child's back, he stripped off his hoodie and the two undershirt underneath to the underarmour. Then ripped the two tee-shirts at the seam to form make-shift blankets to wrap around the quivering boy's frame. Then as gently as he could, Steve slipped one muscular arm underneath the boy and slowly lifted him into a sitting position.

The child screamed in pure agony and the change in position. Which in turn caused the area around them to grow colder and the wind snatched fiercely at Steve's pants and shirt. It everything not to drop the kid under nature's assault, but once he planted his shoes into some cement buried under the snow, Steve was able to keep both of them up.

He rested the kid's torso onto his own and then quickly wrapped the small figure in the tee-shirts and zipped up hoodie. Steve accidently pressed too hard on the boy's injured ribs, receiving a hiss and another drop in the temperature. Now Steve shivered, but he didn't complain. This boy was more important than his own discomfort. Steve whispered apologies constantly at every bout of pain that he cause the child.

After Steve made sure that the boy was secure underneath all of the layers that he could provide he leaned down and whispered in his ear. "Okay, I'm going to pick you up now. Then we will go to a safe place and you will be able to recover and have Christmas with some of the most amazing people in New York. Do you trust me?"

The eyes that had been closed this whole time, squinted up at the Super Soldier in a teary, pain filled haze. The trail of blood long since wiped away as the boy attempted the slightest smile, then he nodded. His eyes displaying nothing but trust and hope.

Steve returned the smile at both the look in the boy's eyes and the small, graceful smile. "Okay, brace yourself." He slipped one arm behind the boy's knees and wrapped the other around the middle of his back before setting his feet, and standing up. The kid gasped and scrunched his body into a tight bundle in Steve's arms, snow fell in heavier clumps as thick tears fell from his eyes.

"I'm sorry." Steve soothed as he held the child closer to his person and quickly left the alley and toward the Tower. He didn't dare slow because of the small life in his arms, but he moved as smoothly as he could as not to jar the bundle further. Every now and then the boy would make a sound, then he would quiet at Steve's soothing mummers and promises of rest, food, and comfort.

When they were about half way there, Steve got tired of calling him "kid" and "kiddo", so he just asked the boy what his name was.

The silence that answered him worried the already anxious man as he looked down at the frame in his arms. The child meet his gaze, and answered in one of the most gut wrenching voices Steve had ever heard.

"I-I, don't ha-have a na-name… Sor-Sorry."

Steve looked horrified at this and looked the kid's face over. "You don't have a name? And what are you sorry for?"

The boy shook his head," No, I do-don't. An' for th-the c-cold. It's ki-kin-kinda ha-hard to c-control my powers i-in this situation."

"So you mean you can control the weather?"

The kid nodded again. "Yeah."

Steve pondered this new bit of information as they drew nearer to the Tower. "Well, you need a name to meet my family. So how about we come up with something?"

Silver eyes looked up at Steve in gratitude, curiosity, and confusion. "Yo-you aren't cur-curious about my po-powers?"

Steve chuckled. "I knew you could control the weather in the alleyway, but when you meet the people in the place I'm taking you to,' Steve smiled,' then you won't be all that surprised."

The boy raised his split eyebrow, but otherwise kept silent as Steve began to list off some names for him to pick.

"Okay, uhm…David, Sam, Benjamin, Seth, Avian, Cade, Elliot, /Harold, Jacob, Edward, Philip. Uhm, 'Steve froze then thought of another name off the top of his head, 'James?"

The boy perked up from his dozing at the mention at the last name. Steve lowered his gaze to him while closing the last few feet between the warmth of the Tower and them.

"I like J-James."

Steve smiled, "I do to, and it suits you."

The boy, now named James, returned the thin lipped smile.

"Alright James, I'm Steve, and the people you are about to meet are Natasha, Bruce, Tony, Clint and Thor. They are all one of a kind, and some can be more annoying than others, but you will soon learn to love them and hopefully trust them like I have."

James looked confused on the last part. "Learn to-to love th-them? I'm sta-staying?"

"Of course you are! You are not going back into the cold by yourself anymore. This will be your home, if you choose to accept it?"

The boy's face lit up at the mention of a home and nodded eagerly at the Captain.

Steve smiled, 'Then I'll see to it. You won't go into the cold unless you want to."

The Super Soldier and the winter child went up the Tower's stairs and into the building. Steve telling James about the people he was going to meet and the Avengers' lives. The world outside left behind to the soft snow and the whisper of the playful wind.

 **A/N: Hey guys, thank you for reading the story! And I once again thanks for the story prompt! I hope that you liked it and feel free to leave a review, follow, or favorite. I may add more to it later, but no promises. Oh, and the pic is temporary! I think I have a better one saved on something somewhere…but, yeah. Merry Christmas and Happy New Years!**


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